


Milking Time

by ryfkah



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Costume parties are excellent locations for illegal activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milking Time

Their contact swears that the party’s the best place for the exchange to happen without the Feds overseeing, and though, as Mal says, he doesn’t trust the slimy weasel more than half an inch, there doesn’t seem to be much choice but to go.

“What we got on our side,” Mal goes on, as the crew listens, “is that it’s a Halloween party – that’s a sort of custom they got round these parts, means everyone’s got to come in fancy dress. Long as we’re smart about what we decide to wear, we should be able to bring enough security to make us all less jittery.”

Kaylee is, of course, enchanted. “A real costume party!”

“Yeah, and if I had things my way you wouldn’t be coming,” Mal says, “seeing as there’s a good chance things’ll get ugly. But Wash has to stay behind in case we got to leave in a hurry, and I’m gonna need all the rest of you to help me smuggle in the stock. Now here’s the plan –”

 

People have been stopping to congratulate the party in the corner on their costumes all night. The little cluster of folk look a little uncomfortable with all the attention, and to be honest, the first two aren’t anything too out of the ordinary. Cross-dressing’s fairly standard for this kind of party, and though the tall black woman does make a rather dashing husband, the bonnet and wide skirts don’t do much to prettify the man.

(“You sure you don’t get us into these kinda situations on purpose?” Zoe had demanded, when this part of the plan was explained. “That makes the second time this month.”

Mal just grinned and said, “Laugh all you like, but you can’t deny these skirts have room for half the cargo under 'em.)

The fake baby in the “wife’s” arms everyone mentions as a nice touch – though she is a little long and angular, and her fancy swaddling clothes don't quite seem to match her “mother’s” worn old outfit.

(“Vera’s got her dignity,” Jayne had said sternly as he relinquished her to Mal, “and you ain’t to make her a laughingstock, you hear? I see you getting up to any funny business with her –”

Mal looked at him. “You want to be the one in the skirt?”)

But it’s the “family pet” that earns the real praise from the gathered pixies, ghosts, and G.I. Feds. The big spotted cow costume hangs to the ground, and it’s clearly got at least two people inside. Every so often, the man in the dress pats the “cow’s” side and says, “Milking time, Bessie!” At this a sullen hand emerges through a pink patch on the side of the costume holding a bottle of white liquid. This always gets uproarious laughter from the observers, none of whom imagine that it could possibly be actual milk. Cows don’t tend to thrive on St. Albans. They don’t notice, either, the man who carefully takes the bottles away to load them in the bottom, hidden compartment of a truck out back.

(“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind,” mutters Kaylee, glaring at Jayne’s rear end.

Jayne glares too, although given their respective positions it’s a little wasted on Kaylee. “It ain’t so much my idea of a good time, neither.” In fact, the only thing that is keeping Jayne from committing outright mutiny is the fact that he’s got at least six guns strapped around him at various strategic points, which does not bode well for his popularity outside the costume.

“At least you got a view,” Kaylee points out.

“You sayin’ you don’t?” The leer in his voice is audible.

Kaylee rolls her eyes. “Now you come to mention it, it ain’t all that different from looking at your face.”

Jayne just sniggers.)

 

The cow’s been pretty funny all night, but everyone at the party agrees that the best part is when the pretty girl shoves her way out the back, pats the sputtering head, says sweetly, “Have fun, Bessie,” and takes off for the drinks counter at speed.


End file.
